Space Oddity
by Psychedelica
Summary: Trapped on a rocket with a man on a suicide mission. No escape, no TARDIS in sight. Amy didn't think her day could get any worse.
1. Basement

**Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish I owned Doctor Who, but no matter how many begs/pleads/death threats I send through Mr Moffat's door, he refuses to give it to me for my birthday :( So no, I don't own the show, or the Doctor, or Amy, or Rory, or any songs by David Bowie. I do, however, own Jonah (yay!), Scarlett, Dylan, Katie, Paul Schwartz, the Western Legion, and the plot of the story.**

**This is both my first songfic AND my first fanfic, so any reviews would REALLY make my day. I'm doing this for a challenge of 100 songfics (there's a set list - the 100 Greatest Songs of All Times by the Telegraph).**

**Disclaimer applies to all chapters. Have fun!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong><em>SPACE ODDITY<em>**

**_(David Bowie)_**

**_Song #100 – Songfic #1_**

_C1 – Basement_

"Hush Pond, I'm trying to think!" the Doctor snapped, steepling his fingers together and resting his chin on them as he paced.

Amy sighed, sliding down the grubby stone wall until she landed with a light '_thump_' on the basement floor. Without saying a word _(none were necessary, she realised)_, her husband Rory sat beside her, his hand on her knee. With a small contented noise, Amy rested her head on his shoulder.

"Like the Alps, only bigger!" the Doctor had promised, dancing erratically round the room like a hyperactive child. "And pinker – a lot pinker!"

Amy closed her eyes, listening to Rory's quiet breathing and the tap of the Doctor's foot.

"The mountains are massive, so tall that no-one's plucked up the courage to measure them yet!" He had sounded so excited, so . . . childish as he rambled on. But he always sounded like that, her Raggedy Doctor. Even now, no longer the little girl she'd been when they'd met, she found it impossible to catch up with his train of thought.

"I was thinking of having a go a few years back, but then these Flanteeks . . . Did I ever tell you about Flanteeks, Pond? Similar to your Earth dolphins, only with six legs and these _enormous _snouts . . ." Amy had stopped paying attention at that point. She knew from experience that when the Doctor started babbling like that, he was simply filling the silence. On more than one occasion she'd noticed that he wasn't even paying attention to himself.


	2. Scarlett

_C2 – Scarlett_

_ground control to major tom_

_ground control to major tom_

_take your protein pills and put your helmet on_

"Scarlett? Can you hear me, Scar?"

Jonah Matthew's voice was louder than usual, crackling from the bad reception. Scarlett nodded tearfully, and then realised he wasn't able to see.

"_Yes_." She hated the way her voice broke.

So did Jonah. It was his fault she was so upset, his fault she'd be attending his funeral in a few months. But he'd known what this job involved when he signed the papers, way back before he'd met his sweet, loving wife.

The whole office could hear their conversation, Jonah knew that, and he hoped for Scarlett's sake that they had the decency to pretend otherwise.

"I love you, Scar," he stated, then cleared his throat. _Need to act brave, at least,_ he reminded himself. It was unusual for him to get so emotional.

"Jonah . . ."

She was going to say something, plead him to come back. He didn't want her to hurt any more than necessary.

"I'll miss you, Scarlett," he interrupted. "I'll . . . I'll be thinking of you."

The words unspoken left a feeling of dread in the air, and an invisible fist clenched Jonah's heart. What was he supposed to say? _When I run out of air, or food, or water, whichever comes first, I'll be thinking off you as I die a painful death, all alone in a metal box millions of miles from those people I love_? Something told him that they wouldn't be a wise choice of words.

Scarlett's voice was low, almost unemotional, as she replied, "I'll think of you every day until I die. I love you, Jonah."

"I love you."

And that was it. The line was cut. Jonah fought a feeling of sheer panic and claustrophobia as he realised he'd never so much as speak to his wife again. But then again, it had all been in the job description.

"Matthews? Matthews, do you read me?" A second voice, male. _Dylan. _His handler, as they called him. The only person he'd ever speak to again. The man he'd share his dying words with, whatever they may be.

Jonah felt an overwhelming urge to let out a primal scream. Instead, he simply answered, "Yeah Dyl, it's me. Everything's A-Okay up here."

"You ready for this, bro?"

He roughly translated this as _'Last chance to back down, mate. Are you really ready to sign the suicide contract?_'

"I'm ready," he lied, hoping the blind panic in his head hadn't crept into his usually calm, quiet voice.

"Here we go, man. See you on the other side."

_(TEN)__ ground control (NINE) __to major tom (EIGHT) (SEVEN) (SIX)_

_commencing (FIVE) countdown, engines on (FOUR) (THREE) (TWO)_

_check ignition (ONE)_

_and may god's love (LIFT-OFF) be with you_

Jonah had passed the Moon – his first proper milestone. He'd only been up here a few days, but already the little metal box was starting to feel like home.

He'd even sorted out a plan regarding Scarlett. He'd lock all his feelings into a big imaginary box in the day – _not that day and night were prominent up here_ – and cry for her in the evenings until he fell asleep from exhaustion.

He passed on messages via Dylan, but wasn't allowed to speak to her because of the mission. He'd tell her little unimportant things – like reminding her of her three o'clock dentist appointment, or musing how the Earth resembled a swirly marble from this height. In return, she'd wish him luck and tell him about her latest promotion, or how the neighbour's cat had miraculous survived being run over by a bus.

Neither he nor Scarlett nor Dylan acknowledged the fact that the transmission was becoming gradually weaker. That one day soon he'd drift out of range. That from that day forwards, he'd have only the stars to talk to.


	3. The Western Legion

_C3 – The Western Legion_

The Doctor was on the move again. He could never sit in one position for more than five minutes.

Amy glanced blearily up. Beside her, Rory let out a gentle snore. She checked her wristwatch in the light of the flickering bulb overhead and realised she'd slept through the night.

"Morning," the Doctor greeted brightly, rooting through a chest of drawers in the corner of the basement.

Amy stretched and made her way over to him. "Any ideas yet?"

"Nope." He was still unbearably cheerful, even in the face of such danger.

"Do you think our captors will send us breakfast?" she asked hopefully. She'd been promised a romantic dinner on the balcony of a ninety-three-storey six-star hotel overlooking a peach-coloured centaur-filled forest that stretched right around the diameter of the planet. And they ended up _here_, of all places.

"Ah, I wouldn't get your hopes up."

Amy heard Rory getting up behind her, and after a minute or two, felt his hand slip into hers.

The Doctor finished hunting through the drawers and moved onto a large cabinet, continuing his search.

"I may have . . . uh . . ." the Doctor trailed off. Amy had never seen him lost for words before; it was an odd experience.

"Spit it out," she insisted.

"Let's just say our captors may not give us any more food after this morning's incident."

"What?" Rory demanded. "What do you mean, this morning's incident?"

"Well, I simply told them I prefer my eggs sunny-side up to scrambled, and they seemed to take that as an insult. I mean, I don't object to scrambled or anything – I was just expressing my opinion. In fact, I once met this wonderful young lady who cooked eggs that were truly remarkable. Portugal, I believe it was. Either Portugal or Dublin. And on a Sunday, of all days! Nothing spectacular ever happens on a Sunday, everybody knows that. Though there was this one time when I met this chap called Walter . . ."

"Doctor!" Amy interrupted. "Let me guess, they took all our food away and told you they wouldn't bring any more?"

"To summarise events, yes. That is an exact summary of what happened. As a summary. Isn't that a funny word, summary?" He wrinkled his nose, almost completely obscured by the shadows of the corner he was in. "Summary, summary, summary."

"Doctor!"

A pause. Then, quietly, cheekily, "_Summary._"

Amy sighed, ignoring him. "What are you looking for?"

The Doctor beamed so widely that even in the folds of darkness, Amy caught a flash of bright white teeth. "The men that captured us, did you notice anything . . . different about them?"

Amy chewed on her bottom lip as she tried to remember. Beside her, Rory's forehead was creased in thought.

The TARDIS had materialised is a dingy old room at the worst possible time.

Just as a hard-core drug deal was going down between two major gangs. The visiting gang can scarpered immediately, catching sight of the word '_POLICE'_ on the 1960's phone box, leaving just the other gang and the three intruders.

"Their tattoos, Amy!" the Doctor emphasised after a while. "They all had the Western Legion's tattoo!"

"I'm sorry, what?"

He looked exasperated in the dim light. "Time Agents? No? The Western Legion is basically a group of Time Agents gone rogue. The air tastes like 2011," _Amy filed this confusing statement away for analysing later._ "So I'm guessing there are about two hundred of them running around. Trust me, you don't want to get on their bad side. But for now . . . I'm looking for . . . _aha!"_

From the depths of an old wooden tallboy, he produced a small leather device which he quickly strapped to his wrist.

"Come on, we haven't got much time."

Amy exchanged a glance with Rory, who was looking even more baffled than usual _(he wasn't a morning person)._

"Okay, what do we do?" she asked, getting straight down to business. She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.

"Grab onto my arm and hold on tight, no matter what." He stepped over to them, fiddling with the strange device.

Amy frowned as she noticed something she hadn't before. It had been too dark, but now . . . "Doctor?"

He ignored her. "Argh! Half the buttons are missing! We could end up halfway across the universe!" He zapped it a few times with his sonic, but to no avail. "Guess we'll just have to cross our fingers and hope for the best!"

She wasn't listening. Rory had noticed too. The Doctor's left eye was encircled with a reddish purple, and just below it on his cheekbone sat a second bruise.

Searching for the right thing to say, she eventually cracked a weak – and inappropriate, with hindsight – joke. "Guess you really wanted those eggs sunny-side up, huh?"

He glanced at her, silent for once. He looked hurt that she'd said such a thing, and she winced. Why _had _she said that? Desperate to comfort him – she hated seeing her Raggedy Doctor in pain – she reached out towards the bruises.

The Doctor flinched away, an expression on his face she'd never seen before.

She didn't like it.

"Hold on tight." His voice was a tad lower than usual.

Amy dropped the subject, clinging onto the Doctor's scrawny forearm with one hand and Rory's with the other.

The Doctor pressed a button, and they were gone.


	4. Hot Chocolate

_C4 – Hot Chocolate_

_this is ground control to major tom_

_you've really made the grade_

_and the papers want to know whose shirts you wear_

_now it's time to leave the capsule_

_if you dare_

Jonah sipped at his hot chocolate, one of the luxuries he'd brought with him. He may as well die happy.

Day 42. It was going quicker than expected. He wasn't able to talk to Dylan any more, though he could still transmit written messages to him. Observational details, that sort of thing.

After all, that was essentially his mission. To tell the truth, it sounded pointless to him, but he hadn't questioned his superiors. They said that the fate of the world could very well depend on it, and he hadn't asked them what they were on about.

_Why hadn't he asked?_

That was why he was perfect for the job. NASA had discovered him when he was just fourteen, and already in college. Kansas farm boys like him didn't go off to college at that age. It just wasn't done. In his little town, everybody went with the norm, both boys and girls working on their parents' farms as soon as they were old enough.

And then he'd come along. Jonah Matthews, a nobody. Parents long dead, adopted at the age of six by a lovely couple, Penny and Zach. Once they found out how special he was, they nicknamed him '_Superman'_. He was '_Clark'_ through most of junior high.

Photographic memory. Hyperobservant. Absorbed information like a sponge in the Pacific. NASA had been ecstatic.

"So what do they do with a mind like this?" he asked his drink. "Send me off to die in the middle of a dark void."

He laughed bitterly. It wasn't the loneliness that was making him crazy – he'd always talked to himself. Scarlett had tried to make him go to hypnotherapy, seemed certain it would work . . .

_Scarlett._

He rolled his eyes, annoyed with himself. He'd broken his pact of not thinking about her in the daytime.

He was just wondering whether his hot chocolate was a bit too sweet when a sudden flash of blueness made him throw his hand over his eyes, spilling his drink all over the sky blue carpet.

Unsure of what emotion to feel _(and so he decided not to feel anything) _he watched as the deep blue swirls seemed to produce three people.

The strange blue circles disappeared once the people arrived, and Jonah stared at them as they bent over, panting and in obvious pain.

"Remind me . . . never to do that again!" a redheaded girl gasped, clutching onto the man beside her. Her accent was Scottish, like Abigail Hathaway from his fourth grade class.

"Oh come on, it wasn't that bad!" a second man snapped, though his face was distorted with pain. He seemed to notice Jonah, and smiled up at him. "Oh hello! I'm the Doctor, who are you?"

"Matthews. Jonah Matthews."

"Hello, Matthews-Jonah-Matthews. This is Amy and this is Rory. Sorry to intrude in your . . . spaceship?"

Jonah paused, saying nothing to the strange British man. He didn't want to seem like a babbling idiot, asking all the questions that were in his head, so he put them aside for the time being and asked, "Would you like some hot chocolate? I spilled mine when you three arrived."

The man who called himself the Doctor looked taken aback, as if he were expecting some sort of interrogation as to how he got onto Jonah's rocket, but quickly regained himself. "Sorry about that. Bit of trouble with the Western Legion. Apparently they only do scrambled eggs . . . Ooh, do you have any eggs?"

"Sorry." Jonah shook his head. "Got some packets if you like. It's hydrated food or hot chocolate. Managed to sneak some on at the last minute."

The Doctor's face fell. "No fish fingers?"

"Sorry."

"No custard?"

"Sorry." Jonah realised how stupid he sounded, repeating the same word over and over. He turned to the other two – Amy and Rory – and asked them whether they would like a drink. They accepted his offer, at least.


	5. Space

_C5 – Space_

_this is major tom to ground control_

_i'm stepping through the door_

_and i'm floating in a most peculiar way_

_and the stars look very different_

_today_

_for here_

_am i sitting in a tin can_

_far above the world_

_planet earth is blue_

_and there's nothing i can do . . ._

Amy watched the man – Jonah – make some drinks, and wondered where they were exactly. Obviously in a rocket, but why? Who was he? Human? And from what era?

She let go of Rory's hand and wandered over to the window. She'd seen space before, but seeing it from in here . . . It was breathtaking. She'd never felt so . . . _small._

The Doctor was examining some of the scientific-looking equipment, pointing things out to Rory, who was looking completely lost. With a tender smile, Amy went over to Jonah and watched him work.

"Don't touch that!" Jonah called out suddenly, without turning around. Confused, Amy glanced over to the Doctor, who was reaching out to press a green button.

"How did you . . . ?" she began.

He shrugged. "How much sugar would you like?"

Once the drinks were made, Jonah led the three of them to a small living area, no more than nine feet long and wide.

"What year is it?" the Doctor asked curiously, flicking through a journal on a small coffee table.

"Please leave that alone," Jonah ordered quietly, with an authority that made the Doctor freeze. "It's 2011. October. The eighteenth"

"And why are you here, Mr Matthews?"

"Why are you here, Mr Doctor?" he retorted.

Amy bowed her head to hide her smile. Rory got jealous when she so much as grinned at the Doctor, so he wouldn't be happy with her acknowledging not-funny jokes told by strangers.

She decided she liked Jonah – he had that sort of air about him. Though he was probably almost thirty, his face had a boyish quality, his dark blonde hair carefully messy. And he had green eyes, which was an added bonus in her books.

"We were kidnapped, to summarise what happened," the Doctor explained, and Amy rolled her eyes. "Have you ever heard of Time Agents? No? I thought not. No matter . . . This, this is a vortex manipulator. A crude space-time device. I managed to set it so it transported us only through space, not in time. It was October when we left, right Rory?"

Rory shrugged and looked baffled. "Uh . . . if you say so . . ."

Jonah was staring at them strangely. "A _vortex manipulator?_ Can I see it?" He accepted the device from the Doctor and inspected it carefully. "Interesting design." After a few moments, he handed the manipulator back and grabbed his journal, scribbling something down.

While he was furiously writing, the Doctor peered over his shoulder and looked surprised. "Where did you learn how to do that?"

"How to do what?" he asked absently.

Amy caught a glimpse of the scrawling handwriting, and realised that the complicated mathematical equations were beyond her. She shook her head.

"Never mind," the Doctor murmured, fascinated by the man's workings. "NASA sent you here? Did they tell you it was a suicide mission?"

"Yep. Someone had to do it, right?"

"Why did they send you?"

Jonah shrugged. "I don't have that level of clearance. I just have to send back my observations and then die. NASA's tech guys do the rest.

The Doctor was silent, and then sat down beside Jonah, a look of deadly seriousness on his face. "So you just came along, not knowing why you were sent here, knowing you weren't going home?"

"To summarise what happened, yes." Jonah smiled and snapped the book shut. "That is an exact summary of what happened."

"Hold on, have you been watching us?" Amy demanded.

When the man shook his head, Rory asked, "How did you know what the Doctor said then?"

"It's complicated."


	6. Transmissions

_C6 – Transmissions_

_though i'm past one hundred thousand miles_

_i'm feeling very still_

_and i think my spaceship knows which way to go_

_tell my wife i love her very much_

_she knows_

Jonah's digital watch bleeped. Six o'clock – time to send his observations. He excused himself from the strangers and took his seat at the front of the rocket.

Outside, it was black. As usual. No different colouration in the sky. The stars were similarly shaped and patterned to how they were yesterday. And the day before. And the day before.

_No obvious changes to the naked eye, _he typed into the computer. _Star alignment normal. No discolouring of sky. Feels normal._

He leant back for a moment. _Feels normal._ Something he'd put on every one of his transmissions to date. Dylan and the others knew to trust him when he said _'feels'_ normal. Jonah could feel when things were different.

For instance, now he knew that the woman – Amy – was standing directly behind him. The Doctor and Rory _(he was a nurse, Jonah could tell)_ were chatting in the living area about NASA and space travel in the 21st century.

"I'm sending my transmissions," he announced. "You're welcome to watch."

"How'd you know I was here?"

He shrugged, not turning to face her. He brought up the readings on the screen in front of him – temperature, any atmosphere, traces of anything unusual, that sort of thing. He sent his transmission under Amy's keen eye, leaving out any details of his mystery visitors.

Eventually, he and Amy met up with the other two in the living area. Rory was looking perplexed, and the Doctor's grin had been replaced with a worried frown.

"Jonah, is there any way off this ship? At all?"

He avoided the Doctor's eyes. "Afraid not. Sorry. And with you guys here, the oxygen, water and food supplies will run out quicker. I estimate two months, three tops. And then we're done for."

The others didn't seem to absorb this information immediately, so he elaborated. "Dead. Gone. Nada. Deceased. Like a doornail."

"Jonah." Amy shook her head, looking . . . disgusted, was that?

He bowed his head, realised he'd gone too far. As usual.

"So we're stuck here?" Rory asked. "We're going to die in a tiny rocket, after all we've been through?"

"What about that wrist gadget of yours?" demanded Amy. "That . . . vortex thing?"

"It was almost broken when I found it," frowned the Doctor. "It's dead. Completely dead. I had a go with my sonic, but . . ." He shook his head. "We're just going to have to hope for a Plan B."

Jonah wrung his hands. So these strange people were stuck with him? He had so many things to ask, but none of his questions were necessary.

"I'm sorry," he apologised, scuffing his socked feet on the blue carpet.

"It's not your fault," Amy whispered. "You didn't drag us here or anything."

"Doesn't mean I'm not sorry," he pointed out.

She looked at him for a very long moment – they all did. Jonah couldn't help but think of Scarlett. Though her hair was blonde – her name implied otherwise – this Amy reminded him a lot of her. She had the same . . . energetic air about her.

"I'll get you off this ship," he stated, without realising he'd said anything. He felt immediately embarrassed. His tongue had spoken without consulting his brain, and it obviously hadn't taken into account that he had no plan whatsoever. "No matter what it takes, I'll get you guys out of here."

"How?"

He blinked at Rory's simple question, and his mind went blank. "I have a plan," he lied. "Wait here. Give me ten minutes."

When he was away from their scrutinising eyes, he could think clearer. He _did_ have a plan, though it was deep in the back of his mind and he couldn't quite access it. Without really thinking, he began tapping commands into his computer.


	7. Plan

_C7 – Plan_

_ground control to major tom_

_your circuit's dead_

_there's something wrong_

_can you hear me, major tom?_

_can you hear me, major tom?_

_can you hear me, major tom?_

_can you . . ._

The Doctor leant back in the cheap beige armchair, thinking. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately, instead of just charging into action like the old days. He was getting old and crotchety. Maybe he'd hit middle age.

Leaving Amy and Rory to console themselves with comforting marital whispers, he wandered off to find Jonah.

The man was furiously tapping away on his computer, and the Doctor was fascinated to see him so engrossed in his activity. Jonah may look physically older than him, but he reminded the Doctor of a young boy.

Unconsciously, he fingered the bruise on his cheekbone, wondering what it looked like now.

It didn't hurt like earlier. It had hurt a lot those first couple of hours, after they'd chucked him back into the basement after the session. Amy and Rory had still been asleep, and he hadn't wanted to disturb them.

But yeah, it had hurt. He hadn't told them quite the extent of the damage. Fingers crossed he didn't have to go shirtless any time soon . . .

"Can I help you?" asked Jonah without turning around.

The Doctor paused, speculating on how the boy _(man, rather. He just reminded him so much of a child) _knew he was there.

"Slightly psychic?" he asked.

Jonah shrugged. "Don't know, don't care. It's not like knowing will help in any way. I'm just here to do my job, nothing more."

"And what is your job, exactly? Because that's why they sent you, right? You know things, don't you?"

"I'm looking out for something."

"What?"

"I don't know. Something. Something different. I send daily transmissions to Ground Control. Nothing strange has happened so far."

"Apart from us showing up."

Pause. "Yeah, I guess. Don't think that's what NASA had in mind."

"Why did you agree to come? To die up here, all alone? You're young – there must be people down there who care about you."

Another pause. Jonah seemed to do that a lot, as if he were answering the questions in his head before saying them aloud. "I have a wife. Scarlett. She cried."

"And you're just going to leave her?"

"It's not like . . ." Jonah sounded angry, the first emotion the Doctor had heard from him all day. He took a breath and went back to the calm, quiet boy _(man) _he'd been before. "It's not like I had a choice. I signed a contract, before I met Scarlett. If I back out . . . I signed a contract, okay? I'm not here by choice. If I didn't go, I'd be in jail, and what would that mean for Scarlett and me?"

"Death over prison," the Doctor mused.

"You'd choose the other one." It wasn't a question. It sounded like Jonah had read him and stated what he'd do.

"I've had people die," he said coldly. "It hurts. They're gone, they don't feel it. But I feel it. I miss them. I hurt every day, because they only thought about themselves, only . . ." He shook his head, getting his temper under control.

"It's okay," replied Jonah, in response to an apology the Doctor was about to give but hadn't gotten around to.

He pretended not to be surprised. "So this plan of yours . . ."

"Under way as we speak," Jonah smiled as he spun around to face him. It was an odd look on the boy _(man, Doctor. He's older than you. Kind of)_. Emotion didn't suit him. "Then you and the . . ." His eyes shifted slightly, as if he were concentrating incredibly hard. "You and the married couple can get back to your normal lives of . . . travelling."

"Impressive."

Jonah hesitated. "Is it?"

"It is," he replied firmly, and Jonah smiled.


	8. Escape

_C8 – Escape_

_here am i floating round my tin can_

_far above the moon_

_planet earth is blue_

_and there's nothing i can do . . ._

It was a few hours before his plan was put into action, but after forty-two days up here, Jonah had learned the finer points of patience. The Doctor, Amy and Rory, on the other hand . . .

"You're sure you can get us out of this?" Amy asked. _Again._

Jonah smiled vaguely at her, barely looking up from his incessant scrawling. He had a lot to tell his journal. He could hardly believe that this time a few hours ago, he'd been all on his lonesome, chattering away to his hot chocolate.

He was about to reply to Amy's query when a loud beeping made him jump. He leapt up from his favourite chair and out to the front of the rocket.

And couldn't believe his eyes.

In front of him, a spaceship much like his own was flying at the same speed as him, just ahead. A crackling came over the intercom, followed by a voice.

"_You're allies of Earth?"_

Jonah smiled contently and sent back his reply, "Yes. We come from Earth. We've found ourselves in a bit of a predicament . . . I believe I explained it in the message?"

_"How did you know we were here?"_ The English was perfect, the accent American. Manhattan, if he had to guess. _"We had our shields up. We shouldn't have showed up on any scanners."_

He hesitated. "I'm slightly psychic." There, he said it. First time those words had left his mouth.

A booming laugh came over the intercom. "_You serious?"_ A long pause. _"Your ship's NASA-built, yeah? NASA sent you?"_

"Yes. You?"

The same laugh. Jonah felt uncomfortable that he was looking like a fool in front of a complete stranger. _"No, kid. We're not NASA. You need help?"_

"If that's okay, sir."

_"How old are you?"_

"Twenty-eight, sir."

_"Twenty-eight,"_ the voice muttered. _"You always sounded that young? Never mind. Are you ready?"_

"As I'll ever be."

At that moment, Jonah was aware of his three passengers standing at the entrance to the living area, watching and listening. Ignoring them _(it wasn't like him to not realise people were in the room)_, he sat in his chair and began tapping at the keyboard.

_"Here we go, kid. Hold on to your underpants."_

"Figuratively?"

The man laughed. Jonah realised he'd said the wrong thing. _Again._ If Scarlett was here, she'd have stopped him looking stupid. _"I like you, kid. You're all right."_

The ship ahead slowed down until they were parallel, flying side-by-side, matching each other's speed. He let the other ship do the brunt of the work, connecting onto his ship like a jigsaw fitting together. On closer inspection, the other rocket was remarkably similar to his – NASA-designed.

"Wait, do you know these people?" Amy asked hurriedly.

Jonah shook his head. "They're okay. I trust them."

"How do you know that?" frowned Rory. "You've never met these people, right? So how do you know you can trust them?"

"Don't be such a party pooper, Rory," smiled the Doctor. "If Jonah trusts them, I trust them as well."

The married couple exchanged an uncertain glance.

"Please," added Jonah. "It's all I've got. It's the only change I can give you, unless you want to die here with me."

A banging noise broke into their conversation. The Doctor looked excited, and rushed to 'answer the door', as he put it.

Jonah glanced around at them and went back to the living area. The Doctor seemed to have it all under control. He knew his way around spaceships, Jonah could tell that just by looking.

He estimated eight minutes until they were out of his hair. It was well into the night _(on Earth, at least) _and he couldn't be getting behind on his sleep. He had schedules to keep. Until then, he leant back into the armchair and closed his eyes.

Exactly eight minutes had passed when he realised something was amiss. He opened one eye. Standing in the doorway was the Doctor, a cheesy grin plastered across his face.

"Thought you were supposed to be psychic," the Doctor said. "I've been standing here for ten minutes."

"It's only been eight since I shut my eyes," he corrected. "And besides, you arrived seven minutes ago."

The Doctor looked oddly proud. "Well, we'll be off."

"Bye."

He didn't leave. "See you, Jonah."

"Bye-bye."

"Jonah." He sounded almost angry. "I'm not leaving."

"You want to deplete my air and food supplies?" It was supposed to be a joke, but Jonah realised it wasn't that funny.

"Scarlett. Your wife. You have a chance to be with her again."

He sighed. "I signed a contract. I have my observations to send."

"You can whisk her away to Portugal. Or Dublin. Never did know the difference. I hear the weather's lovely, anyhow."

"Doctor . . ."

"Jonah."

He stood up. "I just can't see it happening. I've been training for these days my entire life. What would I do with my life?"

"You're clever, I'm sure you could figure something out. Become a carnival psychic, if you like."

"A carnival psychic?" Jonah echoed.

"Why, what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, it's just . . ." He laughed, an unnatural, forced noise. He glanced at his socks and then nodded. "Okay then. If you insist."

The Doctor beamed, and nothing more was said.


	9. To Portugal or Dublin

_C9 – To Portugal (or Dublin)_

Jonah sat on one of the desk chairs, spinning slowly as he thought. They were ten minutes from Earth – these people, Paul Schwartz and his crew, had a much better ship than him, so the forty-two days it had taken him to get to his location was cut down to six hours. After he had thought long and hard about the subject, he decided the ship was from the future somehow. He decided to do some research on time travel when he got home.

_Home._ He smiled – a real, genuine smile. Glancing up, he saw Amy was watching him with an equally wide smile on her face.

The Doctor appeared in the doorway _(this ship's so much bigger than mine, but then again, it has to accommodate seven crewmembers)_, carrying a tray in his hands. The smell of hot chocolate wafted across the room to Jonah.

"Ah, Doc, you know how to make a guy's day," he grinned, knowing _(how did he know?)_ that the Doctor hated being called 'Doc'.

The minutes flew by as the ship made an unauthorised landing in a field.

"Are we in Kansas now, Toto?" asked the Doctor. When Schwartz nodded, Jonah felt a thrill of excitement, the huge weight he'd been carrying for the last couple of months lifted off his chest.

The crew helped him off the ship, and he glanced around the field, recognition sparking. He knew this place. It was only a few miles away from the farm he'd grown up on. He couldn't help but grin again.

"Good luck." He spun around. The Doctor was sat on the steps on the edge of the craft, elbows on knees and chin in hands.

"Thanks." He hoisted his rucksack tighter to his back. "You too. Tell your friends I said goodbye."

The Doctor nodded, and Jonah scuffed his feet _(it felt weird wearing shoes for the first time in over a month)_, unsure of what to say or do. In the end, he just said, "Well, I'm off. Got to turn up out of the blue on Scarlett's doorstep."

"Bring some chocolates," the Doctor advised. "Chocolate and wine. Maybe a teddy bear. Ooh, and a fez!" He frowned. "No, ignore that last one. Women can't be angry when you give them chocolate, wine and some sort of stuffed animal."

"Thanks." He wanted to say something else, wanted to ask this strange man about how he'd gotten onto his ship in the first place, what a vortex manipulator was, and why he didn't _feel _human when Jonah looked at him. But words, like they always had, failed him, so he simply nodded and began to walk away.

After a few paces he halted, turning around. The Doctor was getting back into the ship, so he called out, "Doctor!"

Running up to him, Jonah removed his journal from his jacket pocket. He placed it in the Doctor's hands, and the Doctor looked stunned.

"I can't accept this."

Jonah smiled, like he had earlier, but for some reason this one didn't feel natural. "It's okay. It's a thank you. For taking me home."

"Jonah Matthews, I didn't take you home. You took yourself home."

He shook his head, backing off as the Doctor tried to force the journal back into his hands. "Please. It's all I ask. Read it. I want you to." And with that, he turned and left, neither of them saying anything more.

_(Portugal, three years later. Or is it Dublin? It's definitely one of the other, and the weather is lovely, thank you.)_

Jonah blinked, sitting up in bed with a stretch. Beside him, Scarlett stirred, but quickly fell back into her slumber. It was the first good night's sleep they'd gotten in so long, what with Katie staying at her godmother's overnight. Jonah hadn't realised how much of a toll a baby was on his life. _But hey, I flew into space, somehow summoned (or did I?) three mysterious people and a futuristic spacecraft, and returned to Kansas, whisking Scar away to Portugal/Dublin, _he thought. _After all I've been through, I'm sure I can manage a baby._

He got out of bed and was just putting on his socks when he noticed a small leather-bound book on his bedside table, beside which was a box of hot chocolate packets. With a frown, he looked closer and saw a note lying on the cover of the journal.

_ To Matthew-Jonah-Matthews, great read. Need to improve on your punctuation, but other than that, your theories on travel between different dimensions were fascinating. Thanks for the hot chocolate brand (best I've tasted in a long time), and for helping Amy, Rory and me home. Your friend, the Doctor._

Jonah read the note three times before any of the words sunk in, and even then, he didn't . . . _get it_. How had . . . ? _What?_

"What's the matter, Joe?" asked Scarlett sleepily, sitting up in bed beside him.

He screwed up the paper, turned, and smiled. _A real proper smile._ "Nothing. I was just thinking."


End file.
